ferryman, these words are not for you | myrcella & bette

Already
the farmer's after his crop,

There are no words left. Nothing to say.

A year passed by,
she died,
she lived.

...

She lived?

Hah.

The Fates' scissors are dulled, her life mangled to a thread.

Oh, that thread though,
made of iron.

---

It was only a year ago that she'd thrust a purse full of coins into Aja's hands, conversation swirling past as her eyes focused on the fibers beneath her feet. The rug was beautiful, a patchwork rendered into poppies and bluebells, roses blooming at the corners. She's done with roses, though. The scent turns her stomach inside-out.

Now, Bette finds herself back again, this time standing on the other side. No, that's not right - Aja, Hedy, Reshma, none of them stand in that room, waiting for the road towards the end. No, it is a Career who sits in the room, polished and practiced, her gaze steely as she stood on that platform.

But only three women have sat in that room who... Who remain to tell the tale. There will be moments with the others, if they deem her worthy enough to grace her with their presence. Lord knows what it would take - much more than a Ten in a training session. Much more than digging herself out of the rubble.

The minutes tick by, there will be few words between Bette Sublino and Myrcella Hudson. But there will be words, if the other girl would like.

The door opens, she enters. Myrcella is there, shorter than the podium implies, but there all the same. A girl at the guillotine, waiting in line.

When Bette speaks it is soft, terse.

"Time is short."

"If you need to ask - anything - don't hesitate."